-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Айн Рэнд
-
- Атлант расправил плечи
-
- Стр. 720/1581
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
paused
to
observe
the
effect
.
There
was
none
,
except
that
his
look
of
attentive
interest
seemed
intensified
;
he
listened
as
if
he
were
held
by
some
impersonal
,
scientific
curiosity
.
It
was
not
the
response
she
had
expected
.
"
I
believe
you
understand
me
,
"
she
said
.
"
No
,
"
he
answered
quietly
,
"
I
don
’
t
.
"
"
I
think
you
should
abandon
the
illusion
of
your
own
perfection
,
which
you
know
full
well
to
be
an
illusion
.
I
think
you
should
learn
to
get
along
with
other
people
.
The
day
of
the
hero
is
past
.
This
is
the
day
of
humanity
,
in
a
much
deeper
sense
than
you
imagine
.
Human
beings
are
no
longer
expected
to
be
saints
nor
to
be
punished
for
their
sins
.
Nobody
is
right
or
wrong
,
we
’
re
all
in
it
together
,
we
’
re
all
human
—
and
the
human
is
the
imperfect
.
You
’
ll
gain
nothing
tomorrow
by
proving
that
they
’
re
wrong
.
You
ought
to
give
in
with
good
grace
,
simply
because
it
’
s
the
practical
thing
to
do
.
You
ought
to
keep
silent
,
precisely
because
they
’
re
wrong
.
They
’
ll
appreciate
it
.
Make
concessions
for
others
and
they
’
ll
make
concessions
for
you
.
Live
and
let
live
.
Give
and
take
.
Give
in
and
take
in
.
That
’
s
the
policy
of
our
age
—
and
it
’
s
time
you
accepted
it
.
Don
’
t
tell
me
you
’
re
too
good
for
it
.
You
know
that
you
’
re
not
.
You
know
that
I
know
it
.
"
The
look
of
his
eyes
,
held
raptly
still
upon
some
point
in
space
,
was
not
in
answer
to
her
words
;
it
was
in
answer
to
a
man
’
s
voice
saying
to
him
,
"
Do
you
think
that
what
you
’
re
facing
is
merely
a
conspiracy
to
seize
your
wealth
?
You
,
who
know
the
source
of
wealth
,
should
know
it
’
s
much
more
and
much
worse
than
that
.
"
He
turned
to
look
at
Lillian
.
He
was
seeing
the
full
extent
of
her
failure
—
in
the
immensity
of
his
own
indifference
.
The
droning
stream
of
her
insults
was
like
the
sound
of
a
distant
riveting
machine
,
a
long
,
impotent
pressure
that
reached
nothing
within
him
.
He
had
heard
her
studied
reminders
of
his
guilt
on
every
evening
he
had
spent
at
home
in
the
past
three
months
.
But
guilt
had
been
the
one
emotion
he
had
found
himself
unable
to
feel
.
The
punishment
she
had
wanted
to
inflict
on
him
was
the
torture
of
shame
;
what
she
had
inflicted
was
the
torture
of
boredom
.
He
remembered
his
brief
glimpse
—
on
that
morning
in
the
Wayne
Falkland
Hotel
—
of
a
flaw
in
her
scheme
of
punishment
,
which
he
had
not
examined
.
Now
he
stated
it
to
himself
for
the
first
time
.
She
wanted
to
force
upon
him
the
suffering
of
dishonor
—
but
his
own
sense
of
honor
was
her
only
weapon
of
enforcement
.
She
wanted
to
wrest
from
him
an
acknowledgment
of
his
moral
depravity
—
but
only
his
own
moral
rectitude
could
attach
significance
to
such
a
verdict
.
She
wanted
to
injure
him
by
her
contempt
—
but
he
could
not
be
injured
,
unless
he
respected
her
judgment
.
She
wanted
to
punish
him
for
the
pain
he
had
caused
her
and
she
held
her
pain
as
a
gun
aimed
at
him
,
as
if
she
wished
to
extort
his
agony
at
the
point
of
his
pity
.
But
her
only
tool
was
his
own
benevolence
,
his
concern
for
her
,
his
compassion
.
Her
only
power
was
the
power
of
his
own
virtues
.
What
if
he
chose
to
withdraw
it
?
An
issue
of
guilt
,
he
thought
,
had
to
rest
on
his
own
acceptance
of
the
code
of
justice
that
pronounced
him
guilty
.
He
did
not
accept
it
;
he
never
had
.
His
virtues
,
all
the
virtues
she
needed
to
achieve
his
punishment
,
came
from
another
code
and
lived
by
another
standard
.
